


Armchair

by LysanderandHermia



Series: Pet!Verse [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Conditioning, D/s lifestyle, Dehumanization, Dom/sub, Emotional Hurt, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Feels, Fucked Up, Gen, Humiliation, M/M, Men Crying, People as Pets, Physical Abuse, Stockholm Syndrome, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, sorta - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-02
Updated: 2015-10-02
Packaged: 2018-04-24 10:14:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4915657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LysanderandHermia/pseuds/LysanderandHermia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As a result of forgetfulness, anger, and other things, Jim's punishment for Sebastian ends up being far worse than he'd meant.</p><p>Heed the tags.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Armchair

**Author's Note:**

  * For [poetofthefall](https://archiveofourown.org/users/poetofthefall/gifts).



Sebastian and Dmitri stared at it when they woke up that morning, heading downstairs to start the day. Jim had left a note. He was gone for the afternoon, and had given them a short list of chores to do, a rare occurrence. But the two pets were rather confused by what they found in the sitting room, along with their usual couch. A new armchair.

Dmitri tipped his head to the side, kneeling next to it, Sebastian on the other side, and glanced at the other man. "You think he got it for us?" He asked, hopping up to run a hand over the expensive leather, looking it over.

Sebastian scoffed, shaking his head. "No, of course not." A part of him hoped he was wrong. It /was/ his birthday, after all. The blonde smiled slightly, daring to reach out and touch it too. Maybe Jim had gotten him it as a gift? Dmitri had his very own big and comfy bed pillow to sleep in, that he'd gotten for his birthday. Maybe this was for him?

He shook the thoughts out of his head, before crawling back towards Jim's note, to do his chores. "Come on, Dmitri," he told him, "We need to do our work." Dmitri rolled his eyes, tentatively sitting in the chair and cooing as he realized how comfortable it was. Sebastian huffed, irritated, and got to work.

It was well into the late afternoon by the time Sebastian had finished, and he stared at Dmitri, still lounging on the chair, before shaking his head. "I'm going to take a nap upstairs," he announced, and Dmitri hopped up, hurrying over to Sebastian and pulling him to his feet. Not for the first time, Sebastian wondered if the man was spoiled.

"Sebastian, you  _have_  to try the chair," Dmitri demanded, giving Sebastian a nudge towards it, "It's so comfy! Besides, I have to do my chores before Sir comes home." He dashed off to grab up the list that Sebastian had used, all of his chores checked off and none of Dmitri's own.

Meanwhile, the former sniper was running a hand over the arm of the new addition to the room, admiring the dark leather and gold studding, before perching on it. Maybe Dmitri was in on it too? Maybe the chair really was for him. He was lost in thought, and Dmitri was busy in the kitchen. Neither of them expected the sound of a throat being cleared from the hallway.

Dmitri and Sebastian both crashed to their knees from where they were as Jim stepped into the hallway, rubbing his face. When his face appeared from behind his hand, Sebastian felt his heart sink. He looked tired, and angry, and getting angrier.

"What the bleeding  _everliving fuck_  is going on with you both?" He demanded, voice raising to a near shriek. Sebastian cowered, biting his lip. Dmitri was the one to answer him.

"Sorry, Sir. We got sidetracked with the day." He crawled over to Jim, rubbing against his leg like a cat, getting an irritated kick for his troubles.

"Shut up, Dmitri. It looks like you haven't finished your chores. You'd better get a fucking move on, if you want dinner," he told him, and Dmitri scurried off, list in hand, without a word.

Jim rounded on Sebastian next, glaring at the man, who cowered further and further down until his head was inches from Jim's foot. "And you," Jim snarled, "Lazing about all day in my new armchair, really? That's the thanks you give me for keeping you safe and warm and fed? I've been working all day on this stupid fucking new ploy with the Turks, and I come home to find  _this_." The word was said with as much disgust as one would describe dog shit.

There was silence, as Sebastian felt tears yet again spring to his eyes. He'd expected... anything but this.

"Well? What do you have to say for yourself, worthless thing?" Jim shouted, lashing out. He pulled back his foot and kicked, catching Sebastian right in the face. He flipped backwards, howling in pain, hands coming up to cover his face as he curled into a ball. Jim kicked at him again, getting him in the back, the kidney, howling his fury with every blow.

Sebastian hated it when Jim got like this. When several little things in a row set Jim off. He hated it. What was he supposed to do, when faced with the wrath of a pissed off criminal mastermind?

The kicking paused, and Jim pulled Sebastian up by his hair, snarling into his whimpering face. Blood was pouring from his nose, now probably broken, and Sebastian couldn't see for the tears streaming down his face. He hurt. And he realized Jim was now waiting for an answer from him.

"I-I-I... I'm  _sorry_ , sir, I..." he whimpered as Jim slapped him, shutting his eyes tight, "I got m-my chores done, and I only s-s-sat for a second. Dmi--" Jim full out punched him again, hitting his nose square once more, and Sebastian fell back, screaming.

"Always bringing Dmitri up, you shit, when it's  _you_  you're responsible for. You're going to regret not doing as you were told, this time, and for always trying to make it Dem's fault. He's a  _good boy_."

The lump in Sebastian's throat felt like it was choking him, as he blinked up at Jim, holding his nose and trying his best to keep from bleeding everywhere. Dmitri hadn't finished  _anything_ , and he'd sat around all afternoon in the chair. He opened his mouth to speak, to defend himself, because this time, really,  _seriously,_ it was unfair, it was his birthday, but Jim interrupted.

"I don't want to hear another sound from you, Moran," Jim said, using his surname, which really meant trouble, "Not a fucking peep. You've caused enough fucking trouble. Clean this up," he gestured at the mess of the rug and floor Sebastian had made with his blood, before turning on his heel and leaving.

Not being told to clean himself up, and terrified Jim would get angry again, Sebastian wiped off his nose as best as he could with a paper towel, and set to work scrubbing the rug clean of blood, and mopping the area of the floor he'd made a mess on.

Finished, he put the things away under the sink again, only to find his head being yanked painfully backwards by his hair, meeting Jim's steely gaze as the man held him still and turned to look into the sitting room. True to Jim's orders, Sebastian bit back the whimper and the need to ask to speak, to explain, and stayed silent. "Good. You cleaned up your shit mess. Now. With me."

Jim turned and headed for the front entryway, and Sebastian crawled after, a horrible sinking feeling as Jim opened the door to the basement. Sebastian followed Jim down the steps, awkward and ungraceful, but afraid of standing to go down them.

The basement was used for severe punishment, and it hadn't been used in nearly a year. It was dank, and dark, like most were, dim light coming from upstairs. Jim grabbed the chain leash that was fastened to the wall and secured it with a padlock around Sebastian's neck without a word, before checking the length, shortening it to where Sebastian could move a few feet in every direction. The hated bucket sat in the corner, bleached from the last time but ominous in its clinically clean standards compared to the rest of the place.

Jim crouched down to be eye level with Sebastian, glaring at him. "You're going to stay down here for the night. No dinner, no nice warm blankets or pillows. You're in fucking trouble, do you understand? You do not sit on my things, you do not slack off when I give you a generously short list, and you do not pretend you haven't."

Sebastian swallowed, still afraid to speak, but when Jim gestured with a raised eyebrow that he could, he tried to compose himself, voice small, "Sir, please, I'm sorry. I did do all my chores, I p-promise. And it w-was... I thought the chair was for... m-me, because it's..." He trailed off as he watched Jim's gaze grow livid, a horrible feeling settling like a rock in his stomach. Jim hadn't remembered.

"You thought I bought something that nice for you? Why the hell would I do that, Sebastian? Rhetorical question, shut up." Jim stood, and kicked Sebastian sharply in the gut, making him gag and double over, giving Jim ample time to aim his next kick well, getting him on the cheek this time with the toe of his shoe. Sebastian flailed backwards, begging Jim to stop, but the Irishman was furious again, kicking at the blonde until there were only muffled whimpers coming from the curled up man.

Without a word, Jim left, and Sebastian watched him go, tears in his eyes from pain and a deep sadness. Jim hadn't remembered his birthday.

 

Morning came, and Sebastian arranged himself as best as he could, eyes tired from a near sleepless night, fingers cold and face a swollen mess. He was pretty sure his eye was black, certain his nose was broken, and his back and ribs ached from Jim's kicks. Everything hurt.

Still, he'd made it through the night, and Jim would be happier and well rested this morning, and he'd come get him. He sat straight, hands clasped in front of him like Jim liked, and waited as patiently as possible. As an hour slowly ticked by with the sounds of bodies moving upstairs, Sebastian started to wonder again, his mind playing tricks on him. Was Jim pulling something elaborate on him? Was this a build up to an even bigger reward, maybe, if only he could be good enough?

Even though after the third hour of waiting he knew it wasn't true, Sebastian stayed as still and patient as possible, stomach growling and mouth dry, letting that thought drive him. Jim was playing a prank. Jim was just being mean so that when he was nice again it would be even better. Right?

The day passed by slowly, Sebastian counting the time by the bit of sunlight shining through the dusty window at the other end of the basement, and by when he had to relieve himself.

The night was even worse. It was cold, and Sebastian found it hard to sleep with the heavy chain around his neck, the floor hard and unyielding. He cried for several hours before falling into exhausted sleep.

Another day passed, and Sebastian did his best to be patient, but finally, when the sun had gone down an hour before, he decided he couldn't stay quiet anymore. Had Jim forgotten him, or something? So he started yelling, cautiously at first, but devolving rather quickly into hysterical sobs for mercy. He wanted out. He didn't care if Jim had forgotten his birthday at this point, he just wanted out of the basement and back where it was safe and warm and where Jim was.

 

When Jim realized what had happened, he felt... well, almost sick. Taking a slow breath in, and then out again, he pushed Dmitri gently off his lap, where the man had been napping while Jim worked on his computer, working logarithms into shape in the code he was writing for a new virus. The project had quite literally taken over his entire thought process, something he'd started as a way to calm down and now growing into a huge pet project.

He went to the kitchen, digging out the old note he'd left them a few days ago from the bin, for once, a small thought in the back of his head nagging. Sebastian didn't usually lie. And he hadn't this time, he realized, reading the note, and recognizing Sebastian's neat check marks. Dmitri had had it by the time he'd walked in, he knew that much. Frowning, he threw the paper away again, turning to stare at Dmitri, still napping, then down to the door leading to the basement, where Sebastian's pitiful cries had finally ceased.

It was hard for Jim Moriarty, the spider, to admit he'd made a mistake. He replayed the conversation he'd last had with the ex-soldier in his mind, walking down the hallway slowly. To think Jim had bought him a chair. Why would he-

Jim's hand froze inches from the doorknob, and he shut his eyes tight, swearing underneath his breath. He'd seriously fucked up.

Opening the door, he headed down the stairs, taking them slowly, before coming into sight of Sebastian, his stomach sinking more. The man all but launched himself at the brunette, choking himself as he tried to reach for him, sobbing, chain holding him back.

Sebastian cried harder as Jim stayed out of reach, just staring at him, and he finally sagged back, out of breath, and drew himself into a small ball, head in his arms. "Please," he begged, "Please let me out. I'll be so good. I'll never be bad again, I promise. Please just let me be near you again, sir, please."

It was then that Jim remembered yet another thing he'd forgotten, along with Sebastian's birthday and that he was even down here. Sebastian's biggest fear was being forgotten and being alone. He'd hand delivered Sebastian to a punishment far beyond what he'd intended.

Crouching down, Jim ran a hand through Sebastian's hair, unlocking the padlock and taking off the chain, staring at the man sadly while he wordlessly checked him over. The bruises were fully bloomed on his front and back from the beating he'd taken, and his nose would need to be reset. His eye was swollen but alright. Sebastian sat through it, crying silently now, afraid. He was afraid of Jim, now, and not in the way that Jim liked. He was terrified, pushed past what Jim had intended, and into the realm of Bad.

"Sebastian," Jim said, voice soft, and he pulled the crumpled man into his arms, voice and embrace softer than they'd ever been before, filled with an unspoken apology and emotion that was rare, "What have I done to you, my precious Tiger?" And then, because he felt that while the timing was wrong, it was owed him, he added, "Happy birthday, my darling. I'm so sorry."

**Author's Note:**

> This is the most fucked up and horrible things I think I've ever written. too.good.to.be.true asked for a continuation of my one off, "Puppies Crave Attention", where Jim pushes Seb too far. Two birds with one stone, as this is also my second of 32 prompt challenges with poetofthefall. I've been wanting to write this for a while, so I hope it's okay.


End file.
